


Cold Desperation

by SimplyLucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: A Storm of Swords AU, Canon Setting, Dark, Eventual Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, F/M, Inspired by Voxhaul Broadcast, Optimistic Ending, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Rated M for Sandor's foul language and insinuations, Riverlands, Self-deprecatory thoughts, Written for Devilsbastion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8011375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyLucia/pseuds/SimplyLucia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After stealing Arya Stark from the Brotherhood Without Banners, Sandor Clegane heads toward the Twins but he can't help thinking about the other Stark sister...<br/>His moves were swift as he bluntly wrapped her in the blanket before tying her. In the meanwhile, Sansa’s sister gulped down her tears and looked daggers at him. Sandor took a step back and admired the result. <em>Doesn’t she look like a swaddled infant?</em> The thought had brought a cruel smile on his lips the first time he had rolled her in the blanket, yet that night he didn’t feel like mocking the she-wolf. His head was full of Sansa Stark; wherever he looked, things reminded him of her. She was in the leaves autumn had turned red or in the flames of the camp fire, she was in the chirping of the birds; she was everywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Desperation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [devilsbastion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilsbastion/gifts).



> Here’s the fic I wrote for the awesome Devilsbastion who suggested me this song as a source of inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHF_VolNoVk  
> If you know 'You Are The Wilderness' by Voxhaul Broadcast, maybe you expected a Modern AU of some kind. I actually opted for a canon setting. To stay faithful to the atmosphere of the song, it focuses on Sandor’s feelings, on his torments… but the ending is optimistic. The title comes from the lyrics of the song.

Stamping on the ground as Sandor Clegane scanned their surroundings -  woods as far as the eye could see - Stranger exuded frustration after weeks wandering in the Riverlands.  _ Unless it’s my own bloody anger he feels.  _ Who influenced the other? The man? His mount? 

He had no time for shitty interrogations, though.  _ Move. Don’t let them catch you. _ He spurred his horse. Stranger needed food and shelter and so did he. The little she-wolf he had stolen from these buggers who called themselves the Brotherhood Without Banners was hungry too. Sandor held her tight against him. For good measure, he yelled at her once in awhile.  _ So that she doesn’t get ideas and starts thinking we share the same saddle because she’s a sight for sore eyes. She’s not.  _ A dark chuckle was about to escape his lips when another thought crossed his mind.  _ She’s not her sister. _

Why Sansa Stark kept inviting herself in his train of thought? He couldn’t explain it, after she had refused to run away with him. He had put behind him the stink of King’s Landing, the piece of shit who sat on the Iron Throne, and the bloody Lannisters. It had been easy to think of them as ghosts from his past; the notion he had nothing to do with them anymore made him proud - even happy. _ As happy as a dog can be.  _ Unlike the Lannisters whose faces had started fading soon after he became a turncloak, the little bird’s image stayed as vivid as if he had just left her, though.  _ Her red hair, her begging blue eyes, her full lips… _ Sandor squeezed his eyes shut. Under the tense muscles of his legs, Stranger expressed his displeasure by kicking. The little she-wolf cursed.  _ Like a foot soldier,  _ he thought, amused. It took more than that to unhorse him - both Sandor and Stranger knew it - but it was a reminder that he should bloody focus on the road and think about Lord Beric on their heels instead of daydreaming. He spurred Stranger again.

* * *

Their dinner had been frugal to say the least. The little she-wolf didn’t seem to mind and she was now sitting on her haunches, adding twigs to the fire, one by one. She watched as the flames licked them, turned them to ashes while Sandor sipped the content of his goatskin, pretending it was wine. The innkeeper had said it was wine, and demanded a good price for it but it was plonk. It would leave a disgusting aftertaste in his mouth; he nonetheless kept drinking.

_ Everything has turned sour. I thought leaving King’s Landing would solve my problems, it didn’t. I’m not the Lannisters’ dog anymore, I could have been Sansa Stark’s dog, but she didn’t want me. There I am, bitter and hungry, stuck with the other Stark sister.  _ He glared at her. As they rode closer and closer to the Twins, where he wanted to sell her to the Stark boy, doubts began to creep over him. His plan was lame. He knew it. There was no other plan though. 

“My sister…” the she-wolf whispered, still gazing at the orange flames. In her filthy face, her eyes seemed huge.

“What is it, with your sister?” he rasped.

“How was she, the last time you saw her?” This time she lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. 

“She was in good health.”

“It’s not what I want to know,” she spat. “You usually have  _ lots of things _ to say about my sister, about how you helped her…”

_ What in Seven hells is she insinuating? _ Yes, he had told the little she-wolf about the riot, he had told her how he had saved her sister from the angry mob. _ So what? _ He tossed the empty goatskin and jumped to his feet: it was more than time to roll the brat in a blanket so that she didn’t run away or try to kill him in his sleep. Eyes narrowed, he took a step forward. She had sensed the danger and looked at him, rolling herself into a ball, ready to kick and to bite.

“Why didn’t you take  _ her _ instead of me?” she said, hitting the high note. “That would have been a good deed. Well, almost a good deed, if you tried to sell her to Robb. But she would have been safe!”

_ Safe?  _ Her words reopened the wound of Sansa’s refusal, the night he had left King’s Landing.  _ I can’t tell her I offered the little bird to leave with me, but she refused... _ He disguised his shame behind seething rage, grabbed the she-wolf’s upper arm and heaved her. “What do you know about the likes of me who travel alone with pretty girls like your sister? You think she’d be safe?” The little bird must have known she wouldn’t be safe; that was why she had refused to follow him. A sound decision she had made, he realized it now.  _ I’m no better than an animal. _

The she-wolf had suppressed a cry of pain and she looked at him with widened eyes. Sandor recognized that gaze: fear, for herself and for her sister. He scoffed and dragged her to the spot where he had left the blanket and the rope. 

His moves were swift as he bluntly wrapped her in the blanket before tying her. In the meanwhile, Sansa’s sister gulped down her tears and looked daggers at him. Sandor took a step back and admired the result.  _ Doesn’t she look like a swaddled infant?  _ The thought had brought a cruel smile on his lips the first time he had rolled her in the blanket, yet that night he didn’t feel like mocking the she-wolf. His head was full of Sansa Stark; wherever he looked, things reminded him of her. She was in the leaves autumn had turned red or in the flames of the camp fire, she was in the chirping of the birds; she was everywhere. His nails dug deep in his palms.

And suddenly, the solution came from Arya, who wiggled at his feet. 

“You know, you should go back to her.” He gazed down and in the flickering light of the fire, he saw the streaks tears had left on her face.  _ She’s serious _ . 

“Help her again,” she went on. “Maybe not now, but someday.”

Sandor silently walked to the place where he had left his bedroll. 

Arya’s words played over and over in his head, long after the girl’s even breathing told him she was asleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about it as he tossed and turned.

What Arya had offered him was not a fucking plan: plans were for cunts. It was a purpose.


End file.
